by Julia Quinn
He kissed her anew, his mouth hungry and wild. His hands found her drawers and within seconds the garment was on the floor of the carriage. He touched her intimately, his knowing fingers teasing the folds of her womanhood.
“Oh, Robert!” she gasped. “What—Last time you didn't—”
“There's more than one way to love you,” he murmured. He felt her more deeply, marveling at how responsive she was beneath his touch. Her body moved against him, drawing his finger in more deeply. She was whipping him deeper and deeper into his desire, and he felt himself straining against his breeches. He pressed his lips roughly against the pulse point in her temple and whispered, “Do you want me?”
She looked at him in disbelief.
“I want to hear you say it,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Gasping for air, she nodded.
Robert decided that that was good enough, and he fumbled with the fastenings of his breeches. He was too hot, too ready to get the damned garment off his legs. Instead, he just pulled himself out and nudged his way between her things, where his fingers were still tickling their way to heaven.
One of Victoria's legs slid off the bench, giving him more room to probe her womanhood. He pressed forward, sheathing just his tip within her. Her muscles turned hot and convulsed around him, and his entire body shuddered in reaction. “I want more, Torie,” he rasped. “More.”
He felt her nod, then he pushed farther, moving closer and closer to the very center of her being, until finally he was fully embedded within her. Robert pulled her tightly against him, silently savoring their union. His lips trailed across her cheek to her ear, and he whispered, “I'm home now.” Then he felt her tears on his face, tasted the salt as they rolled to his lips, and he was undone. Animal desire overtook him, and his mind and body separated. He pumped into her relentlessly, somehow managing to hold back his release until he felt her stiffen and cry out beneath him.
With a loud groan he thrust one last time, pouring himself into her. He collapsed almost instantly, every muscle exquisitely weary. A thousand thoughts collided in his mind in that instant—was he too heavy for her? Did she have any regrets? Had they made a baby?—but his mouth was so busy gasping for air that he couldn't have spoken if his life depended on it.
Finally, when he was able to hear something other than their hearts thudding in unison, he lifted himself onto his elbow, unable to believe what he'd done. He'd taken Victoria in a cramped, moving carriage. They were half dressed, rumpled—hell, he hadn't even managed to remove his boots. He supposed he should say he was sorry, but he wasn't. How could he be sorry when Victoria—no, Torie—was lying beneath him, her breathing still uneven with the last vestiges of her climax, her cheeks hot and flushed with pleasure.
Still, he felt he should say something, so he offered her a lopsided smile and said, “That was certainly interesting.”
Her mouth opened, her jaw moved slowly forward as if she was trying to say something. But no sound emerged.
“Victoria?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Two times,” she said, blinking dazedly. “Two times before the ceremony.” She closed her eyes and nodded. “Two times is quite all right.”
Robert threw back his head and laughed.
As it happened, “two times” was not quite accurate. By the time Robert managed to slide a gold band onto the fourth finger of Victoria's left hand, she had been thoroughly made love to not twice but four times. They had had to stop at an inn on the way to London, and he didn't even bother to consult her before informing the innkeeper that they were man and wife, and requesting a chamber with a large and comfortable bed.
And then he'd pointed out that it would be a sin to let such a nice big bed go to waste.
They were married almost immediately on their arrival in London. Much to Victoria's amusement, Robert left her waiting in the carriage as he ran into his house to retrieve the special license. He returned in under five minutes, and then they made their way to the residence of the Reverend Lord Stuart Pallister, the youngest son of the marquess of Chipping-worth, and an old school chum of Robert's. Lord Pallister married them in a trice, completing the ceremony in less than half the time Victoria's father had usually taken to do the job.
Victoria was terribly self-conscious when they finally arrived at Robert's home. It wasn't that it was imposingly grand; with his father still living, Robert had adopted one of the family's smaller holdings. Still, his stately town house was impeccably elegant, and Victoria had a feeling that living in the family quarters of such a residence would be much different than a governess's topfloor cubbyhole.
She was also afraid that all the servants would immediately recognize her as a sham. A vicar's daughter—a governess!—They wouldn't like to receive orders from her. It was imperative that she start out on the right foot with Robert's staff—a bad first impression could take years to correct. She just wished she knew which of her feet was the right one.
Robert seemed to understand her dilemma. As they rode in the carriage from Lord Pallister's home to his, he patted her on the hand and said, “Now you shall be a countess when you are introduced to your new home. It shall be much better that way.”
Victoria agreed, but that didn't stop her hands from shaking as they walked up the front steps. She tried to keep them still, but she wasn't successful, and her wedding band suddenly felt very heavy on her finger.
Robert paused before opening the door. “You're trembling,” he said, taking her gloved hand in his.
“I'm nervous,” she admitted.
“Why?”
“I feel as if I'm at a masquerade.”
“And your costume would be…” he prompted.
Victoria let out a nervous laugh. “A countess.”
He smiled. “It's not a costume, Victoria. You are a countess. My countess.”
“I don't feel like one.”
“You'll get used to it”.
“That is easy for you to say. You were born to this sort of thing. I haven't the slightest idea how to go about it.”
“Didn't you spend seven years as a governess? Surely you must have observed a thing or two from Lady—No, I take that back,” he said, frowning. “Contrive not to emulate Lady Hollingwood. Just be yourself. There is no rule that a countess must be haughty and stern.”
“Very well,” she said doubtfully.
Robert reached for the doorknob, but the door was pulled open before he touched it. A butler swept into a deep bow, murmuring, “My lord.”
“I think he watches out the window for me,” Robert whispered into Victoria's ear. “I have never once managed to grasp the doorknob.”
Victoria let out a little giggle despite herself. Robert was trying so hard to set her at ease. She decided then and there that she would not disappoint him. She might be terrified, but she was going to be a perfect countess if it killed her.
“Yerbury,” Robert said, handing the man his hat, “may I present my new wife, the Countess of Macclesfield.”
If Yerbury was surprised it certainly did not show on his face, which Victoria was sure was made of granite. “My deepest congratulations,” he said, then turned to Victoria and added, “My lady, it will be my pleasure to serve you.”
Victoria almost giggled again at that. The thought of someone serving her was so utterly foreign. But, determined to act properly, she managed to stifle her laugh into a friendly smile and said, “Thank you, Yerbury. I'm delighted to become a part of your household.”
Yerbury's pale eyes glowed just a touch warmer when she said “Your household.” Then the unthinkable occurred. Yerbury sneezed. “Oh!” he exclaimed, looking as if he wanted to melt into the ground. “My lady, I am so dreadfully sorry.”
“Don't be silly, Yerbury,” Victoria said. “It is only a sneeze.”
He sneezed again, just as he was saying, “A good butler never sneezes.” Then he let out four more sneezes in rapid succession.
Victoria had never seen a man look more
distressed. With a quick glance at Robert, she went forward and laced her arm through the butler's. “Come now, Yerbury,” she said warmly, before he had a chance to faint at such intimate contact with the new countess. “Why don't you show me to the kitchens? I know of an excellent remedy. We shall have you cured in no time.”
And then Yerbury, his face betraying more emotion than he'd let show in forty years, led her to the back of the house, thanking her profusely all the while.
Robert only smiled as he was abandoned in the front hall. It had taken less than two minutes for Victoria to charm Yerbury. He predicted she would have the rest of the household eating from her hand by nightfall.
A few days passed, and Victoria slowly grew comfortable with her new position. She didn't think she would ever be able to order servants around like most of the nobility; she had spent far too long in their ranks not to realize that they were all people, too, with hopes and dreams much like her own. And although the servants were never told of Victoria's background, they seemed to sense that she had a special affinity for them.
Victoria and Robert were breakfasting one day when a particularly devoted maid insisted that she reheat her mistress's morning chocolate because it wasn't quite warm enough. As the maid scurried off with the pot, Robert remarked, “I do think they would give their lives for you, Torie.”
“Don't be silly,” she said with a scoff and a smile.
Robert added, “I'm not at all certain they would do the same for me.”
Victoria was about to repeat her earlier comment when Yerbury entered the room. “My lord, my lady,” he said, “Mrs. Brightbill and Miss Brightbill have come calling. Shall I tell them you are not at home?”
“Thank you, Yerbury,” Robert said, turning back to his newspaper.
“No!” Victoria exclaimed. Yerbury immediately halted in his tracks.
“Who is supposed to be in charge here?” Robert muttered, watching as his butler blatantly disregarded his wishes in deference to those of his wife.
“Robert, they are family,” Victoria said. “We must receive them. Your aunt's feelings will be terribly bruised.”
“My aunt has an amazingly thick skin, and I would like some time alone with my wife.”
“I am not suggesting that we invite all of London for tea. Merely that you spare a few minutes to greet your aunt.” Victoria looked back up at the butler. “Yerbury, please show them in. Perhaps they might like to share our meal.”
Robert scowled, but Victoria could see that he wasn't really upset. In a few seconds Mrs. Brightbill and Harriet bustled into the room. Robert immediately rose to his feet.
“My dear, dear nephew!” Mrs. Brightbill trilled. “You have been a naughty boy.”
“Mother,” Harriet added, throwing a sheepish look Robert's way, “I don't think one can still call him a boy.”
“Nonsense, I can call him whatever I wish.” She turned to Robert and fixed a stern expression on her face. “Have you any idea how upset your father is with you?”
Robert sat back down once the two women had taken their seats. “Aunt Brightbill, my father has been angry with me for seven years”.
“You didn't invite him to your wedding!”
“I didn't invite anyone to my wedding”.
“That is entirely beside the point.”
Harriet turned to Victoria and said behind the back of her hand, “My mother does love a good cause”.
“And what cause is this?”
“Righteous indignation”, Harriet replied. “She loves nothing better”.
Victoria glanced over at her new husband, who was enduring his aunt's scolding with remarkable patience. She turned back to Harriet.
“How long do you think he'll be able to withstand it?”
Harriet furrowed her brow as she pondered that question. “I would have to say that he must be nearing his limit.”
As if on cue Robert's hand came crashing down on the table, rattling all the dishes.
“Enough!” he boomed.
In the doorway to the kitchen, the maid hovered in terror. “You don't want any more chocolate?” she whispered.
“No!” Victoria cut in, jumping to her feet. “He wasn't speaking to you, Joanna. We would love some chocolate, wouldn't we, Harriet?”
Harriet nodded enthusiastically. “I'm certain my mother would as well. Isn't that so, Mother?”
Mrs. Brightbill twisted in her seat. “What are you blithering on about, Harriet?”
“Chocolate”, her daughter replied patiently.“Wouldn't you like some?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Brightbill said with a sniff.
“No sensible women would refuse chocolate.”
“My mother has always prided herself on being very sensible”, Harriet said to Victoria.
“Of course”, Victoria said loudly. “Your mother is all that is sensible and true.”
Mrs. Brightbill beamed. “I shall forgive you, Robert”, she said with a great huff, “for neglecting to include Harriet and me in your nuptials, but only because you have finally exhibited the sense that God gave and chosen the lovely Miss Lyndon as your wife”.
“The lovely Miss Lyndon”, Robert said firmly, “is now Lady Macclesfield”.
“Of course,” Mrs. Brightbill replied. “Now then, as I was saying, it is imperative that you introduce her to society as soon as you can”.
Victoria felt her stomach grow queasy. It was one thing to win over the hearts of Robert's servants. His peers were another matter altogether.
“The season is nearing its end”, Robert said. “I see no reason why we cannot wait until next year”.
“Next year!” Mrs. Brightbill screeched—and she knew how to screech better than most. “Are you mad?”
“I shall introduce Victoria to my closer friends at dinner parties and the like, but I see no reason to subject her to an odious ton ball when all we really want is a bit of privacy”.
Victoria found herself fervently hoping that Robert won his point.
“Nonsense”, Mrs. Brightbill said dismissively. “The entire world knows that you are in London now. To hide her would be to give the impression that you are ashamed of your new wife, that perhaps you had to marry her”.
Robert bristled with anger. “You know that is not the case”
“Yes, of course. I know it, and Harriet knows it, but we are only two of many”.
“Perhaps”, Robert said smoothly, “but I have always held your ability to disseminate information in the highest of esteem”.
“He means she talks a lot”, Harriet said to Victoria.
“I know what he means”, Victoria shot back, and then was immediately ashamed of herself because she'd just called her new aunt a gossip.
Harriet caught Victoria's embarrassed expression and said, “Oh, don't worry yourself over that. Even Mother knows she's the worst sort of gossip”.
Victoria bit back a smile and turned to the sparring match that was taking place on the other side of the table.
“Robert”, Mrs. Brightbill was saying, one hand splayed dramatically over her heart, “even I am not that efficient. You will have to introduce your new wife to society before the season is out. This is not my opinion. It is fact”.
Robert sighed and looked over at Victoria. She tried very hard to keep the terror out of her eyes, and she feared that she must have succeeded, for he let out another sigh—this one infinitely more weary—and said, “Very well, Aunt Brightbill. We will make one appearance. But just one, mind you. We are still newly wed”.
“This is so romantic”, Harriet whispered, fanning herself with her hand.
Victoria grabbed her cup of chocolate and lifted it to her mouth in an attempt to hide the fact that she absolutely could not manage to pull her lips into a smile. But this action only served to show how badly her hands were shaking, so she set the cup back down and looked at her lap.
“Naturally”, Mrs. Brightbill said, “I shall have to take Victoria shopping for a new wardrobe. She
will need the guidance of one who is familiar with the ways of society”.
“Mother!” Harriet interjected. “I am certain that Cousin Victoria will be more than able to choose her own wardrobe. After all, she worked for many weeks at Madame Lambert's the most exclusive dressmaker in London”.
“Euf!” Mrs. Brightbill said by way of reply. “Do not remind me. We shall have to do our best to hide that little episode”.
“I am not ashamed of my work”, Victoria said quietly. And she wasn't. Of course this didn't mean she wasn't terrified of Robert's social peers.
“And you shouldn't be,” Mrs. Brightbill said. “There is nothing wrong with a hard day's work. We just needn't speak of it”.
“I do not see how it would be possible to avoid it,” Victoria pointed out. “I assisted a great many ladies at the shop. Madame always liked to have me out in front because my accent is gentle. Someone is bound to recognize me”.
Mrs. Brightbill let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, it will be unavoidable. What am I to do? How to avoid a scandal?”
Robert, who was clearly feeling somewhat henpecked, turned back to his breakfast and ate a bite of his omelet. “I am certain you are up to the task, Aunt Brightbill”.
Harriet cleared her throat and said, “Surely everyone will understand once they realize what a romantic past Robert and Victoria have”. She sighed. “Young lovers, separated by a cruel father—even the best of my French novels cannot compare”.
“I do not intend to drag the marquess's name through the gutter”, Mrs. Brightbill said.
“Better his name than Victoria's,” Robert put in caustically. “He is more to blame for our separation than we are”.
“We are all equally to blame”, Victoria said firmly. “As is my own father”.
“It matters not who is to blame”, Mrs. Brightbill stated. “I am only interested in minimizing the damage. I do think that Harriet has the right idea of it”.
Harriet beamed.
“Just inform me where I have to be and when”, Robert said with a bored expression.
“You can be sure I shall also tell you what to say”, Mrs. Brightbill returned. “As for particulars, I believe that the Lindworthy bash tomorrow evening shall suit our purposes”.